


Not Another Night Alone

by daniomalley



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:05:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniomalley/pseuds/daniomalley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for no_tags, for prompt 12: Mikey/Patrick, sometimes quiet people need to be together</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Another Night Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to inlovewithnight for running this awesome challenge again :)

“...And then the next panel should take up the whole page, or maybe two pages, to show the explosion. Don’t you think, Mikey?”

“Sure.”

“And I think that’s when I need to introduce the psychic firefighter, but I haven’t designed her yet. What do you think about...”

Mikey listened as Gerard went on listing his ideas. He held his iPod in one hand but didn’t put in the earbuds, instead nodding occasionally and adding an ‘uh-huh’ whenever Gerard paused.

“I want to make sure it means something, you know? That it will mean something to people, to make them want to read it. What do you think?”

Mikey bit the inside of his cheek and considered. “I’d read it,” he said. “The storyline sounds...” He waved his hands about, trying to encompass something he couldn’t find the words for. “Big, with a lot of levels to it. Really makes you care about what happens.”

Gerard beamed. “That’s great, because I’m hoping at the end I can...”

Mikey smiled and sat back, letting Gerard go on.

***

“Patrick.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Paaatrick.”

“Yeah?”

“Paaaaaaaaaatrick!”

“ _What,_ Pete?”

“I’m bored, entertain me.” Pete dropped onto the end of the couch and grinned at Patrick, no hint of doubt evident about Patrick’s willingness to stop writing and devote all his attention to Pete. Not that Patrick _wasn’t_ willing to, damn it. On principle, he grabbed a cushion and threw it at Pete.

“You’re a child.”

In response, Pete stuck out his tongue. Patrick raised his eyebrows and tried to pretend he wasn’t amused. “Which word in the English language is always spelled incorrectly?” Pete asked.

“What?”

“Which word,” Pete repeated, “in the English language...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard you. What are you talking about?”

“It’s a brainteaser,” said Pete. “Which...”

Patrick leaned over and tried to cover Pete’s mouth. “Shut _up_ ,” he said. “God.”

“No, that’s not it,” Pete mumbled. Patrick groaned.

“Incorrectly,” he said, taking his hand away. “Incorrectly is always spelled incorrectly.”

“Yes!” Pete shouted with a grin. Patrick rolled his eyes and picked up his laptop again.

“Hey, Patrick?” Pete said after a few minutes. Patrick groaned.

***

Patrick shifted on the couch and adjusted the angle of his laptop screen. Mikey leaned against him, nudging with his shoulder. Patrick looked up, highlighted a section of the song he was writing, and played it for Mikey.

It sounded good, with a fun, speedy rhythm, but knowing Patrick, Mikey was sure he’d be adding a lot to it before he was satisfied. He nodded approvingly, and Patrick nodded back. He changed the last chord and played it again.

They’d spent all morning lying around in their hotel room, taking really long showers and appreciating the availability of the king size bed. Gerard and Frank were out somewhere, and Pete was in a meeting on Skype. Mikey wasn’t sure what everyone else was doing, but they weren’t around, leaving him and Patrick together.

Mikey turned a page of the magazine he was reading. Patrick put aside the laptop and picked up his guitar, playing the bars he’d written to check he’d got them right.

“Does it sound okay?” Patrick asked.

“It’s good,” Mikey said. Patrick played some more, now experimenting with the melody and doing unexpected things with the chord structure. 

“I like it better like this,” he said, playing a phrase. “But I know the guys will want something that isn’t so...” He couldn’t seem to find the word, but he played the phrase again, and while Mikey couldn’t have said what had changed, it sounded somehow more appealing.

“What do you think?” Patrick asked.

Mikey didn’t want to admit he preferred the second version. He could see why Patrick would like the first. It was unpredictable, challenging. It just wasn’t something you could hum. Mikey slid a hand over Patrick’s shoulders.

“I think you’re hot when you play,” he said, grinning. 

Patrick smiled back, but his fingers moved restlessly on the guitar strings like he wasn’t done worrying about the song, so Mikey got his hand around the back of Patrick’s neck and pulled. Patrick fell against him, the guitar slipping out of his hands and landing on the floor with a thud.

“Fuck,” Patrick muttered, sitting up to check that his guitar was okay. Mikey let him go – he never got between Patrick and his guitars – and stood up. Patrick leaned his guitar against the wall, and Mikey stood behind him, putting his hands over Patrick’s shoulders.

“What?” Patrick asked, looking around at Mikey. Mikey pulled the collar of Patrick’s shirt down and kissed the spot where his shoulder met his neck.

“Oh,” Patrick murmured. He leaned back against Mikey. Mikey sucked at the sensitive skin over his collarbone and nipped lightly with his teeth, enjoying the way Patrick shuddered. He ran a hand down Patrick’s chest, letting it come to rest against the button on his jeans. Patrick whimpered and pushed his hips forward; Mikey chuckled into Patrick’s ear.

He slid his other hand underneath the hem of Patrick’s shirt and upwards, finding his way to Patrick’s right nipple and giving it a light pinch. Patrick was panting now, loud and hard, and Mikey could feel his chest expand with every breath. Mikey pinched the other nipple, a little bit harder, and Patrick leaned against him heavily. That was fine; Mikey planted his feet and finally let his other hand drift down.

He kept the pressure very light, just enough to tease, until Patrick made a disgruntled noise and put his hand over Mikey’s wrist. Mikey relented and pressed his palm to the outline of Patrick’s dick in his pants. Patrick groaned and rocked his hips forward, and Mikey took advantage of his distraction to slide his shirt right up. He pulled the shirt up until Patrick lifted his arms and he was able to get it off.

Mikey moved his hand over Patrick’s cock, and he knew that if he kept it up for much longer he could make Patrick come in his pants. It was an appealing thought, and it was often pretty funny to watch how grumpy Patrick could get when that happened, but Mikey knew if he wanted Patrick to reciprocate he probably needed to make sure Patrick didn’t get spooge all over his favourite jeans. 

Mikey got Patrick’s jeans open and pushed them down, but couldn’t resist taking a few moments to tease Patrick some more. He slipped the tips of his fingers under the waistband of Patrick’s boxer shorts, just letting them graze the tip of Patrick’s cock. Patrick twitched and whined. From the corner of his eye, Mikey could see Patrick biting his lip, but he didn’t take much notice, being more interested in working his thumb into Patrick’s boxers and rubbing it over the head of his dick. Patrick gasped, his breath hitching in that way that meant he was right on the edge, and finally, finally Mikey wrapped his hand around Patrick’s length, making sure to press the calluses of his fingertips to the sensitive vein underneath. 

Patrick squirmed and cried out, coming in strong spurts and leaning into Mikey’s arms. Mikey held him through the orgasm, waiting until Patrick was steady on his feet again. Then Patrick turned around and pressed his forehead to Mikey’s, his eyes half closed and his breath still hard and fast. Patrick put one hand up to Mikey’s cheek and played with the short hairs on the back of his head.

After a minute or two, Patrick reached up and pulled off Mikey’s glasses.

“Mikey,” he said.

“What?”

Patrick looked him up and down, like he was deciding what to do.

“Bed,” he said. “Now.”

Patrick was _awesome_ when he focused on something.

***

Lying in his bunk on the bus, Patrick could hear Pete talking in his sleep. The blankets rustled as he moved around.

Patrick grabbed his phone and unlocked it. 3:15 in the morning. Way too early to get up and do anything, probably too late to try to go back to sleep. He should probably get out of bed and check that Pete was okay, but he didn’t sound upset.

Patrick sent a quick text to Mikey: B-) “Don’t forget the marmalade,” he heard Pete mumble. Patrick snickered into his pillow. He was going to enjoy giving Pete shit about this tomorrow.

His phone buzzed again and Patrick read the return message from Mikey: *\o/* Patrick smiled and settled back against his pillow to sleep.


End file.
